Sunday, November 28, 2010

FUCK YA DEMANDS

I FUCKING STONE WOMEN LIKE THE TALIBAN
WHO GIVES A RATS VAGINA WHAT YOUR CUNT OF A BRAIN THINKS
IT'S THE RATS IN YOUR VAGINA THAT MAKE YOUR FUCKING CUNT STINK
BODE CHARACTER, STILL LAUGHING AT YA,
FAKE FOES TRED ONYA TOE AND STILL YOU STAND THERE LIKE A BITCH, DONT YA KNOW?
FUCKING HELLS KIDDZ, STREET FAMOUS, YOU KNOW THE NAMES OF US MATE, JUST ASK OUR FAVOURITE DUTY LAWYERS AND MAGISTRATES.
BEEN ON SOMETHING NASTY OR SICKENING NARCOTICS EVER SINCE TORCH SHOWED ME THE LIGHT, I DROP PHONICS, IN STEREOSONIC, YOU BACKPACKER, WHILE I STATE MY HATE FOR POLICE STATIONS, YOU JUST A FASHION STATEMENT TALKING TO THE POLICE MAKING ACCUSATIONS.





This is where I buried a cat. It got hit by a car really badly. I thought I'd have to hit it in the head with the shovel, but it had bled out. I don't think the sound of bones breaking, regardless of what species it is, is the most arousing sound. The cat belonged to my neighbours in the Homeswest commisions. I had already gone about five foot deep when a guy comes up, hat nearly falling off his head, that it was his aunty's cat, and she'd want to bury it herself. So I left him with it next to the grave I had dug.
As I walked away with my bloody shovel all I could think about was how I'd started a Pet Semetary.

Three days later I found another cat, about seven blocks away, laying exactly the same, with a trickle of blood running out of it's mouth.
I had taken a photo but I ended up deleting it.

Speaking of death, it doesn't stop.
Rest in Peace Rzolt. I wish you weren't so smashed when you got off the train at Perth Station the other week, I could of said goodbye.

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